


Undercurrent

by ember_firedrake



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M, Nightmares, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 23:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5983903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ember_firedrake/pseuds/ember_firedrake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for an anon on tumblr who requested Flint telling Silver about his backstory. Episode tag for 3x03.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undercurrent

John SIlver stood outside Captain Flint’s cabin, debating whether or not he should knock. Whether he would enter the room was not in question, as several minutes ago he’d woken to the sounds of a man in distress filtering down through the floorboards. Silver knew the crew’s faith was tenuous, even after they’d dined on shark and the wind had returned. He’d sighed, shifting from his hammock as he reached out for his prosthetic. 

Now, as he stood outside the door, weight shifted onto his good leg, his own words to Billy drifted back into his mind. _I think it’s torture for him_. Silver’s hand, raised as if to knock, dropped to the door handle instead.

Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t this. Flint was nowhere near his cot, instead slumped on the floor beside his bookshelf. He raised his head when Silver took a halting step forward. Though his skin had lost some of its gaunt quality since he’d gotten nourishment, there were deep circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. He looked... _haunted_ , Silver realized. He hadn’t seen such raw vulnerability in the man’s face since that fateful day he’d entered this very cabin to find Flint cradling Gates’ body. And though Flint had no pistol in his hand now, Silver approached with the same care he had then.

“Captain…” he ventured cautiously. His ruined leg twinged whenever he shifted weight on it, but he pressed forward.

“She says I will find peace when this is over,” Flint said. There was no need to ask who ‘she’ was in this instance—the sorrow that wracked Flint’s voice was apparent. It made something lurch within Silver, and he gingerly lowered himself until he sat on the floor as well. 

“How can I find peace when that dream, everything I have striven toward for _ten years_ , lies forever out of my reach? _His_ dream.” 

Silver felt curiously like he was being dragged by some undertow. He had only pieces of information, his own insights gathered from what he’d seen of Captain Flint. Though he knew not the full reason, he could see Flint was adrift. Silver reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. Flint seemed surprised at the contact, looking at Silver’s hand before meeting his eyes, but he didn’t pull away. 

Silver remembered their conversation in Nassau. He hadn’t understood, then, how Flint’s need to go to Charlestown outweighed his desire for that wealth of Spanish gold. He didn’t care much for politics himself, and Flint’s wish to see a self-governing Nassau had seemed strangely magnanimous for a man who desired no actual part in the governorship of the island. 

“We set off for Charlestown seeking pardons for the pirates of Nassau,” Silver said. He had no wish to provoke Flint’s ire, but a part of him needed desperately to fathom him. “After what Lord Ashe did, I understand completely your desire for vengeance. But when Hornigold offered those pardons, why not accept? Act of cowardice on their parts though it may be, why does that matter when you have what you set out to attain?”

Flint tensed, and Silver was sure he’d overstepped, but then something seemed to crumble in Flint’s features. “You don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand. I want to.”

For a long moment Silver didn’t think Flint would respond. Silver drew his hand back, hoping that small measure of distance might help. Finally, Flint spoke.

“The idea to pardon the pirates of Nassau was originally conceived by a man named Thomas Hamilton. I was his liaison to the Admiralty. At the time, those in London scorned his plan. They called him a coward, but it was goodness that drove him. A sincere belief that treating criminals as men rather than monsters could help humanity atone for its own sins.”

That sense of an undertow current returned, Silver feeling himself drawn into Flint’s story. His leg protested the uncomfortable position, but he dared not shift for fear of interrupting Flint.

“Thomas Hamilton was ridiculed for his ideas, and that scorn ultimately ruined him,” Flint said, his voice gone ragged. “A story was fabricated that he had been driven mad by his wife having an affair with me. Miranda and I fled London with the assistance of Lord Peter Ashe. It was only in Charlestown that we discovered Lord Ashe had been the one to condemn Thomas Hamilton in the first place.” 

Flint’s indiscriminate destruction of Charlestown suddenly made greater sense, the mysterious Barlow woman’s context filling the gaps of Silver’s understanding, but he was still troubled. There were important details missing from Flint’s account. Silver could perceive the dangers of holding unpopular ideals in a political landscape, and how that could destroy one’s career, but the ruin Flint spoke of seemed much more final. And personal. Fabricating a madness that didn’t exist went far beyond a normal response to one who was a political threat. 

“And so when Hornigold offered the pardons, you saw it as a perversion of Thomas Hamilton’s plan,” Silver guessed.

Flint gave a start beside him, flinching. Silver’s brow furrowed in confusion, before he realized Flint’s reaction had been in response to his word choice. _Perversion_. The missing pieces slotted into place.

“The story of the affair was just a cover, wasn’t it?” Silver asked, his voice tentative. The last thing he wanted was to put Flint on the defensive, but he felt it again, that current that seemed to be drawing him closer to this man before him. 

Flint’s jaw clenched, his face flashing with anger, shame, regret, and something else, something underlying it all. Silver’s own words echoed again in his mind, _I think it’s torture for him_. If peace was what Flint strove for, would some measure of understanding help him towards that aim?

“It’s okay,” Silver said, not needing a verbal confirmation of what he now knew to be true. He reached again for Flint, giving in to that pull. His own inner sense of that tide seemed to subside as he drew Flint towards him. Even more surprising, Flint went without protest, allowing himself to be drawn into Silver’s arms. He gave a brief shudder, then settled, his head resting beneath Silver’s chin. 

Silver recalled when he had risked his life diving after Flint in their fight against the Spanish warship. Bringing him to the surface again had been a struggle, both of their sodden clothes and Flint’s unconscious form threatening to drag Silver under. 

That moment and this one could not be more different, though Silver felt again as a buoy for Flint. The same risk of drowning was there, but this time, Silver was unsure if that was something to fear.


End file.
